


Pathetic (Omovember 2020)

by tinyghostie



Series: Omovember 2020 (Diego, Five and Klaus) [12]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Child Abuse, Day Twelve: Trapped and Desperate, Desperation, Gen, Omorashi, Omovember, Reggie is a Prick, The Mausoleum (Umbrella Academy)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:42:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27527092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinyghostie/pseuds/tinyghostie
Summary: Klaus needs the bathroom in the mausoleum. Reginald doesn’t like excuses.
Series: Omovember 2020 (Diego, Five and Klaus) [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1999363
Comments: 3
Kudos: 19





	Pathetic (Omovember 2020)

Klaus trembled and fidgeted as the ghosts got closer. It was bad enough that he had to pee, let alone being surrounded by the mutilated, corpse-like figures which were currently approaching him.

“D-Dad, I have to pee!” He cried again, his throat hoarse. The figures stumbled closer. One was a tall, balding man with several stab wounds and a missing leg that meant he was crawling along the ground, dragging his fingernails along the concrete with a gut-wrenching scraping sound, and smearing a path of blood behind him. Another woman who looked like she had once been a housewife wailed eerily about the demise of her unborn son; a concept Klaus should have been too young to know about but wasn’t. He’d been here last night, and gone through the same ordeal, after all. And the night before.

Klaus let out another helpless cry and kicked his legs against the ground as he tried to back himself further into the corner. “P-please!”

A glimpse of light shone into the room and widened into a large rectangle as the door opened. Klaus squinted up at his father and captor, having gotten used to being in the dark. “I w-wanna go to the bathroom.”

“Pathetic excuse. You’ll have to come up with something cleverer than that if you want to be set free, Number four.” Reginald closed the door, blocking out the precious light that had at least half deterred the ghosts.

“N-no, please!” Klaus begged.

“I was stabbed in the bladder.” Grumbled a particularly vile old spirit who complained about everything, and often spat at Klaus and sometimes even the other ghosts. “I had ter watch me guts pour out, an’ everythin’.”

Klaus clapped his hands over his ears and it suddenly became much harder to hold it. He chose holding himself over blocking out the wails and groans of the undead and grabbed at his crotch desperately.

“Filthy, pathetic boy.” The housewife turned her child- the one with the pigtails and the lace skirt- away from Klaus in disgust. The man with the beard that came down to his knees suddenly woke up from where he was hanging in the corner and started bawling loudly about his arthritis. This woke up the old beggar with the warts and the swollen ear, who crawled over to Klaus and took up residence in the same space as him.

From what Klaus understood, the ghosts felt his body heat when they occupied his space- however, he felt their chilling, bitter cold, and their pain, and their suffering.

It made his stomach twist and churn and he got up, running away from the corner, and stopping as soon as he felt himself regain warmth. More warmth than before. Too much warmth.

Pee ran in rivulets down his legs and spilled onto the floor, running between the cracks in the ancient stone, every ghost falling silent, their attention now on him.

Suddenly, the horrid spirit who had claimed to have been stabbed in the bladder began to laugh, and the others quickly joined in. It was an awful, morbid cacophony, a caterwaul of shrieking laughs laughed by people who hadn’t laughed in years, decades, centuries. Their laughs were rusty, as if they hadn’t used them enough. Lots sounded more like wails, bitter and grating. The old beggar wheezed and gasped, slapping his knee; the little girl with the pigtails and the lace skirt giggled and pointed as her mother let out a small chuckle, still disapproving but amused, nonetheless.

It was the first even remotely entertaining thing that had happened in the mausoleum for decades, and Klaus’ humiliation was the cause. He hid his face in his hands as his cheeks flushed bright red.

“Number four, your time has…” Reginald’s voice trailed off, the usually composed man lost for words for once. “Perhaps you will need longer. This silly little fear is worse than I thought.”


End file.
